


Mad Sounds

by nabicnvs



Category: GOT7
Genre: 60's AU, AKA, Age Difference, Beatniks and Greasers (subculture), Broken Families, Color Blindness, Failed Marriage, Greaser!Jaebeom in the beginning, M/M, There is also a small porn part, Writer!Mark, ambiguous ending, beatnik!Mark, found family kinda, london setting, music producer!Jackson, singer!Jaebeom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nabicnvs/pseuds/nabicnvs
Summary: Caught in a failing marriage, Mark seeks a new kind of poison to get him intoxicated enough as to not lose his will to live anymore. He runs away from the noise, from the chaos, tries to indulge in writing a novel because it feels like a good way to escape the hell of a reality he is living. Eventually, he needs someone to remind him that it's fine having regrets, it's alright not always being good and that selfishness can be effective medicine from time to time.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan, Park Jinyoung & Jackson Wang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Markbeom fic fest 2020





	Mad Sounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceans4jinyoung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/gifts).



> First of all, hello! I'm really glad I got to participate in this fest this year and I really hope I didn't disappoint with this piece.
> 
> My prompt was a 60's London au feat greaser Jaebeom and mod/beatnik Mark in which their friends all hate each other but little do they know that sometimes Mark and Jaebeom might meet up in private and might be kind of in love. I must admit that I pretty much butchered your prompt, like... the elements are there, barely, maybe, and the story is a lot because I got carried away. I just hope this is somewhat enjoyable because I can't even describe the amount of work I put into it :') 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> *: trigger warnings for relationships with an age gap, angst, and maybe cheating undertones? (tho not really but I will put that there just in case)  
> **: the characters are aged-up or aged-down here so everything would fit

“Ohhh, look who’s here!” The smile stretching Wang’s lips is as charming as always. As charming as Mark remembers it.

“Can I join you for a drink, gentlemen?” 

“Please do so. And please do tell me how come you’ve finally appeared here, after missing for… so long.” 

“Life has been tough.” Mark’s shoulders lift, then he takes the empty seat next to Jackson and indulges himself in some whisky. 

He missed it. Not only the whisky and his friend, Jackson, but also the jazz playing, while they are sitting in this one great spot, drinking. He missed the shiny golden ring on Jackson’s pinky, always so flashy when he lifts his glass. And the smile on Jackson’s lips, which he always wears like it’s the most expensive piece of jewelry he owns. 

Cheers to that, to the shiny Jackson Wang in this one background, Mark drinks. His throat is burning so good, and he allows himself to loosen up, to soak his mind in the jazz playing in the bar. 

“Tell me about it. I was getting worried I would never get to see you again, you know? I tried putting myself in your shoes and I got terrified when I reached the conclusion that I would have put a bullet in my head if I were in your place.” 

Is Mark surprised? Not at all. Because he considered it quite a few times. But, unlike Jackson, he is a coward and doesn’t dare taste death just yet. 

“Gerard still needs a dad.” 

“Didn’t you say he has a shitty father though?” 

“Of course, but I’ve noticed there are worse fathers out there.” Mark finishes his drink, feeling curious eyes on him. Jackson probably wants to know what he means by that. 

“Tell me what you’ve been doing these months. Have you been drinking, Mark?” 

“No, I have been working like crazy. And I’ve drank during the nights in which I couldn't fall asleep. I’ve bought another house, smaller, neat. Empty. Silent. It’s my home now.” 

“And your family? You left them?” 

“Not really. Me and Mimi just agreed to… separate. If she needs money for Gerard, I will provide. And if Gerard needs his stupid father, either I will visit, or he could visit me. I’m not trying to become a stranger for them, but, at the same time, I can’t go on living under the same roof with the two of them anymore.” 

Jackson’s Zippo clicks, and his cigar is suddenly lit up. “I don’t understand what’s your motivation to go on. What you’re saying sounds like a living hell to me, and, in the end, you’re all alone. Or have you found a new poison to keep you high on life?” 

Well, isn’t Jackson a digilent one? Of course the two of them are old friends; by now, Jackson learned how to read Mark and Mark learned to pay attention to Jackson’s body language to be able to figure him out. 

But yes, in fact, Mark did find a new type of poison. Somewhere in a world that’s way too low for him. In a cheap bar in front of which motorcycles are always parked, welcoming customers. And if you pay no mind to them and open the door, you’re immediately hit by the smell of disgustingly cheap beer, leather and smoke. Mark recalls entering such a place due to a sticker he saw on a motorcycle — the same symbol appeared in some of Gerard’s notebooks, Mimi complained about it and gave hell to the boy quite a few times. 

As Mark thought, it was a band symbol. And while he didn’t quite like it at first, he still gave it a shot, for the sake of understanding his son. 

Before he knew it, he found himself his new poison; firstly, he saw himself in the father with the tobacco smile and yellow teeth, often seen bringing beer to the billiard table, where those guys with long hair and leather jackets usually gathered. Then, he thanked God for being born in a somewhat rich family, living a decent life, having a job, and not being able to identify with any living being from that bar. 

He had a can of cheap and disgustingly warm beer nevertheless. Analysed the trend of greased hair and black leather jackets. Observed the owner with the yellow teeth trying to make him order more, so he could pay more. Tried to ignore it and just listen to some half-assed shitty music. 

On the improvised stage, a teenager with greased hair and an old leather jacket, a bit too big for him. Just another kid who tried to imitate Elvis, of course. Honestly, nothing special. Mark still hated everything around him, from the heat inside, to the smell, the beer, the people, the clothes, the characters.

When he thought about leaving but felt too lazy and warm to get up, he heard a guitar strum. And another one. And yet another one. Mark’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed, and before he knew it, sad lyrics accompanied by that sad guitar tune filled the room. Only then did Mark hear the rain outside, and only then did he notice the puffy eyes on the teenager. Of course, he didn’t get to the chorus due to someone boo-ing, and then someone shouting that “it’s not rock’n’roll”, so he changed the song so he won’t hear complaints from the customers. He proceeded to sing such a cheerful song with such a sad smile on his lips, with his eyes shut most of the time, and with his tears pressed against his palms, hidden from the whole world.

And that’s the story of Mark getting intoxicated for the first time by a cheerful tune played in the saddest register ever. It might be dumb, but he got hooked already. 

“Hey, Jackson…” 

Jackson’s already all a sharply raised brow and attentive big eyes. There’s smoke coming out of his nostrils, making him look almost intimidating. Yet he’s waiting patiently, intrigued. 

“Would you like to have a taste of my new poison?” 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“Do you think Mister Jackson liked it?” 

Mark can only say two things which are true: Jackson clearly didn’t hate it, and he, for one, enjoyed it just like he enjoys this quiet night and this one whisky he is tasting for the first time. He likes the atmosphere, the dim lights in the room, and Jaebeom on the sofa in front of him, with his wet hair and a loose sweater hanging on him. Loose pants over his legs, too, and bare feet. A clean smell coming from Jaebeom mixed with the smell of alcohol from his glass. It almost makes him forget about his heavy chest. Almost. 

“By the way, Youngjae is mad at me and I think it’s only your fault.” Jaebeom says again, reaching for the cigarette pack in the pocket of his sweater. 

“The guy you used to sing with? The bratty one who is always wearing rings?” 

Jaebeom hums in agreement, then lights up his cigarette. “My friends all kind of hate you. My dad hates you as well, since because of you I’m not singing Elvis’ songs for free in his bar.”

“You can always leave if you don’t like what I can offer you, I hope you know that.” Mark sounds sweet and sincere, but, deep inside, he knows Jaebeom won’t leave. That’s why he is so bold to say it out loud, because, no matter what, he is sure Jaebeom won’t come back in that miserable hole of a bar of his father’s. 

A moan from Jaebeom, one that highly disagrees. Mark fucking knows, he is very aware of it ever since that one time Jaebeom _begged_ him, hands tight around his coat and pulling at it, teary eyes, the high of being drunk on both beer and wine spitting continuously only one word: _please._ Mark recalls it as if it has been yesterday. And though he hates to admit it, seeing Jaebeom on his knees, begging, crying and pulling at his clothes, made him feel somehow powerful and in charge. It’s pretty bad that this feeling came from Jaebeom’s powerless state, but whatever. At least he is not that powerless anymore, right? (And, yes, Mark starts hating it.)

“Do you really want to sell yourself like this? For what? For fame? For money?”  
  
“I do regret that you only wanted me and not the whole band, but what can I do? You’re fucking with the rich and the refined, and I’m lucky I got noticed by you. Right, do you think I should stop greasing my hair? Or should I cut it very short or something?”

“Leave it _au naturel._ ” Though Mark is not kidding, Jaebeom seems amused by the expression he chose to use. “It’s pretty.” He adds, watching as a small smile stretches Jaebeom’s lips against the cigarette he is smoking.

Of course, if Jaebeom can get his way by trying to seduce Mark — which Mark is very aware of — the least he can do is throw at him a compliment or two from time to time.  
  
As Jaebeom is seated in front of Mark, the latter is surprised by the bare foot pressing just slightly and out of the blue on his knee. He looks up at Jaebeom, who looks like he is about to say something, but who decides to keep it to himself as letting his other foot stick the same on Mark’s other clothed knee. Out of sole curiosity, Mark lets the foot wander on his thigh for a while, and when one of those bare feet finally presses lightly against his crotch, he grabs the two ankles with his hands. For a second, he wants to pull those feet away, but then he lets go of the ankles with a gulp. 

He thinks of his wife, Mimi. And of his son, Gerard. And after, he looks back at Jaebeom, at the way he’s tossing his cigarette in the ashtray. He’s not even part of the family, yet Mark is now living with him instead of with his own wife and son. 

“I have a son.” He manages, sighs, then presses his hands over Jaebeom’s bare feet because they are cold under Mark’s warmth. “He is twelve and he asked his mother to buy him a leather jacket. He likes blues and rock’n’roll and wants to cut his hair like Elvis.” 

“And?” 

Mark lifts his shoulders, leans his head back against the sofa he is seated on. “I don’t get it. Yet I hate it.” 

“Hate what? The blues and some rock’n’roll?”

“I hate the fact that I don’t belong at home, where I should be right now.” His head stays there, laid back, his eyes open, staring at the wall. Only his hands slowly move Jaebeom’s heels on each of his thighs, just so he can press his palms on Jaebeom’s ankles afterwards. “I like my job, I’m glad I can do it. And I used to be happy with having a beautiful wife, a boy and a nice house. But one day I returned home and I felt like I couldn’t find my place there anymore. When I’m at home, everything seems cramped, messy and too warm, and it makes me itchy inside. Oh, and it’s always so noisy, I’m never allowed to have a piece of mind at home. There’s always the tv speaking, or the radio playing, or a record which is on, or… a neighbour shouting at midnight. Or Gerard doing whatever.” 

He is not even aware of how he started babbling. He also knows Jaebeom has no reason to give a shit about his personal life, but he remains silent in place because he can't take it back now. 

“I hate the noise, too. It won’t allow you to think. To dream. To imagine.” 

“Wait, so you understand?” At this point, Mark is looking at Jaebeom, a frown on his face. 

“I understand the feeling of itchiness and the bothering noise cracking your skull open sometimes. I don’t think we have the same story, but it looks like we both want to run away. To be reborn and to live happier lives.” 

“At least you’re not visiting bars and getting drunk every night just so you’d be numb when you get at home. You’re a kid, and you’ll have a bright future as a singer. Just be patient.” 

As Mark gets up and goes to open a bottle of rum, he wonders whether he should hate Jaebeom for being young and beautiful and for actually having a chance to start over. Or if, maybe, he should hate himself for helping Jaebeom start over. It’s not like the kid will help Mark in the future anyway, he will most likely make some money and run away from Mark. 

And Mark, the ghost of a man he is, will probably return to his wife and wait until the noise swallows him whole. 

After just two glasses, the plan doesn’t even sound as bad anymore. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Slowly, Mark’s life becomes quieter, as he has been seeking this silence for years now. He doesn’t know how to act in regard to the sudden change in his life, so he unawarely and silently drowns in it. 

It’s a rainy 5 P.M. on a late autumn day when he decides to call his wife from his workplace and let her know he is going to be late at home tonight. There’s a short break in their conversation, as if none of them knows how to react to this one unimportant thing. And then… then Mark sighs into the receiver. 

“I still have some editing to do. And a colleague asked me to revise some of his articles. I, uh… there is not _a lot_ of work I have to finish today, but I want to. And afterwards I would love to-”

“To see your girlfriend.” His wife finishes it for him, in a somehow aggressive tone. A little bit too aggressive for Mimi. 

The improvement Mark managed to do in the span of the last couple of two months is that he actually made out with his wife; well, _kind of._ He actually told her the truth: that he bought a second house, smaller, just for him. That he will become Jaebeom’s manager if Jackson allows him to release an album. Of course, Mimi has never heard Jaebeom’s name — she doesn’t know whether it’s a man or a woman, a young person or an old one. They call him _Jackson’s new singer,_ though Mimi might have figured it out it’s a male until now. 

Another thing Mark tried to explain to her was his passion about writing. As he expected, she didn’t understand. “You’re already an editor, what more can you ask for?”, she said back then, and proceeded to remind Mark about how _family_ is much more important than work. He expected Mimi to not understand the difference between writing and editing — and if she did, she pretended she didn’t get it. All she wanted was Mark at home, with her and Gerard, though Mark felt like he didn’t fit in that warm and cosy frame anymore. What he wanted was silence and to write a novel. 

Mimi was a simple girl from the country — younger than Mark, and a convinced familist. Wishing for nothing more than a loving husband and a child she could take care of. She associated the word “writing” with “cheating”, as if Mark couldn’t have any other interest apart from his family. Maybe she didn’t understand why he bought the second house in the first place.

“It’s Friday, and I would like to have a couple of hours of silence after work. I would like to write for a little bit.”

“You have silence at home.”

He knows he doesn’t, no matter how much Mimi insists. It may seem like he does have a few short moments of silence, but even if he does, it’s not only the silence. Everything at home bothers him, from the warmth to the old and mundane dirtiness of everything. If he looks at his hands while he is at home, they feel just like they are covered in the grease Jaebeom used to slick his hair with. And not only it’s gross, but it feels wrong thinking about Jaebeom when he is at home. 

The smaller place he lets Jaebeom stay in is minimalistic and clean. Not a lot of stuff, and most of the time, no sound. No tv set. A radio that he often finds plugged off. Just the simple sound of Jaebeom breathing most of the time, if that even counts. And the beautiful sound of Mark’s typing machine. It’s truly like a little piece of heaven for him. It’s what he likes to call _home,_ because it’s what _feels like home._

Now, how should he put this into a short answer for his wife?

“I don’t. Plus, I have everything there. Look, I will just… I will be late. I _will_ come home, but I will be late.”

He almost laughs when he hears the call ending without his wife even telling him goodbye. Then he sighs, shakes his head lightly. Hides his hands in his pockets and decides to stare at the rain outside for just a minute. He is by far a bad person, and he won’t blame anyone for calling him selfish, but he is in a better state of mind now. And the itchy feeling? He almost forgot how it feels.

Just as he promised, he finishes work and heads _home_ with some food this time — nothing much, just bread, eggs, a few apples and oranges, and some jam-filled pastries. Neither of them cooks a lot around here, but Mark doesn’t hate it. Actually, it kind of gives him an air which inspires freedom. It’s really fucking nice. 

Inside, he finds Jaebeom sleeping in the white bed, tucked like a baby in the thickest of blankets they have. Next to the bed, the window, continuously hit by cold raindrops. Everything accompanied by Jaebeom’s soft breath. Funnily, there’s no pillow underneath his head, all a black mess of strands and bangs. Mark finds it poetic for some reason, calmly and silently beautiful, so he smiles for himself, trying to capture a visual photo and lock it inside his mind. 

When Jaebeom wakes up, it’s still raining. As always, he is barefeet, in that loose, old, black sweater. It probably means comfort to him, just as Mark finds comfort in the silence.

Jaebeom sits at the table, places his elbows on top of it and presses his cheeks in his palm. His eyes are following Mark’s hands, which are cutting a few slices of bread. Fascinated, he follows every motion: the thin bread slices laid down on two plates, and the eggs placed over them, the knife pressing into the white and the liquid yolk slowly falling on the bread. Mark peppers just a little bit of salt over it, and, _for whatever damn reason,_ greets Jaebeom with the quietest kiss on his forehead.

“Hungry?”

“Boiled egg and… bread?”

“I really like the combination whenever I’m kinda hungry but not starving. It goes really well with some tea or coffee, too.”

“Should I make tea, then?”

“No, _I_ will make tea this time. You can start eating.”

But Jaebeom doesn’t, not without Mark, though that means the eggs are not hot anymore by the time they start eating. Mark gets endeared when he sees Jaebeom lick one of his fingers, and, eventually, when he backhugs Jaebeom in front of the sink, he realizes he is in a good mood today, despite the rain and despite the angry wife who is waiting for him at home. For a couple of minutes, he forgets he is a bad person, and living feels easier, almost enjoyable.

“Let _me_ wash the dishes.” Mark says, another kiss pressed against Jaebeom’s cheek this time. He is sure Jaebeom must be wondering what’s with the sudden affectionate gests, but the only explanation Mark can give is that he is in a good mood. That life doesn’t feel that suffocating anymore. 

“Mark?” Jaebeom’s tone is low, his hands wet, washing the dishes. There is no need for any of them to talk loudly since they are so close to each other.

“Hm?”

  
“I’m just curious… why did you decide to help me? And I mean… with everything from the singing lessons to letting me stay here with you. I’m just wondering what inspired you to be kind with a stranger.”

  
“Sometimes the best we can offer is kindness, Jaebeom. Even to a stranger. I don’t know, I got my eyes on you because you seemed to be the perfect thing which described this difference between me and my son. Some sort of mix, if you wish. I just had this feeling that since you’re young, you could understand both a mature man like me who likes silence, and my son, a child who is starting to show his true colours, his interests, his passions. I don’t know if this makes any sense at all, but if I were to draw it, you’d be somewhere in the middle, perfectly aligned, keeping everything balanced. _Offering the harmony my family clearly lacks…_ ” Mark wonders if he already said too much or if he shouldn’t have been _this_ sincere. “Also, I needed a friend, I suppose. But one who is not Jackson, one who can see things differently from how I see them.” 

“Well, I see everything in black and white!” Jaebeom says, a small smile on his face. Then it becomes just a little teasing grin. “Is this what you wanted?”

“You don’t really seem the type to label everything as good and bad though.”

Jaebeom shakes his head. This is not what he means. But he waits for the two of them to finish the dishes, and when they are done, Jaebeom takes his chance and slips from Mark’s hands with no word. When he returns, he is holding the three books Mark borrowed to him, some classics he truly enjoys when he finds the perfect atmosphere to relax by reading a book. 

At first, Mark is confused. 

“I know you told me to start with the red one. But I have no idea which one of them is the red one. For me, the first two are almost the same shade of grey, and I can only assume the third one is a really dark colour, if not black. Just like the shirt you’re wearing. I can only assume it is a dark shade of a colour, but I have no idea what colour it is. So I’ll just guess a dark blue or a navy or something?”

Mark can’t even blink due to the mix of confusion and fascination. He can’t comprehend it, it’s such a hard pill to swallow on the spot.

_His shirt is a dark maroon, orange-based, not blue-based, as Jaebeom guessed. The books on the table are pastel yellow, grey and a dark blood red._ He is absolutely shocked if he thinks about Jaebeom not being able to see colours. 

“Jaebeom… do you really mean it? You can’t see colours? At all?”

  
“No, I can’t. I can only see tones of white and black and the greys in between. I have had it since I was a child, and the doctor said it also came with a sensibility to bright light. Actually, I’m almost blind in bright light.”

  
“And why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

  
“Oh… Because…” Jaebeom shakes his shoulders. “I wasn’t aware of it? Yes, I know the other people can all see colours and I can’t, but this doesn’t really affect my daily life. I wanted to tell you when you suggested I started with the red book, yet you were in a hurry and I decided to just tell you another time.”

Mark shakes his head a little bit, still not able to process how Jaebeom’s dark and pretty eyes cannot see colours. It’s unfair, but at the same time, he feels fascinated and almost wants to add this feature to a character from his novel. This way, he could also imagine the world through Jaebeom’s eyes.

_He will think about it some more before that, though. As if it is their little secret which Mark doesn’t feel like sharing._

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“So how’s with Mimi? How’s Gerard?” 

Mark gulps, and tries to unpeel his eyes from the sight. Again, he hates the leather jacket, the greased hair, the boots. The hands, where they are placed and the rings adorning a few fingers. 

“So?”

“ _Good,_ Jackson. They’re good.” 

If Mark recalls well, the name is Youngjae, and he is one of the friends Jaebeom used to hang out with in his father’s bar — but does this mean this Youngjae guy has the right to be here, to smile at Jaebeom like that? To grab his hands, to hand him flowers and to have the privilege of hugging Jaebeom like that? To have both of his hands pressed on the back of Jaebeom like that?

_Whatever,_ Mark thinks to himself, eyeing the glass of whisky in front of him, that’s meant for him to down. It’s not like he can compare. It’s not like he is free, or like he would ever be free. The only thing that is free about him is his fantasy stories he compresses in the novel that will only exist for him to read. And, hopefully, by the bitter end of it, he will have the courage to put that bullet into his head, as Jackson told him; _like a man._

“What do you think? Do you enjoy his songs?” Jackson whispers to Mark’s ear, keeping the cigar in his hand, away from their faces. “I think poor him rewrote this one a dozen of times until I was satisfied with it!” 

It’s not like Mark doesn't care about that, he’s more interested in the way Jaebeom looks tonight in his velvet coat, with his hair slicked back elegantly, hand tracing the mic stand down as his heart-shaped lips curve so beautifully on a slow song. Mark presses his own lips and imagines those hands touching down his chest, but the image vanishes the moment Jaebeom lifts his hands up, the melody suddenly silent. 

[ “ _Let’s get out of this town, baby, we’re on fire_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzYJYFaCI7s)”

It looks like he is enjoying what he’s saying, like he is believing in what he is singing, with that playful smile on his face. The song seems like it’s a different one from before, still not too alert, but with a strum of chords that falls amazingly over the word _fire_. Mark’s intrigued, raised eyebrows and all. 

“ _Everyone around here seems to be going down_

_Down_

_Down_ ”

It’s as if Jaebeom knows all the secrets; yet Mark’s greatest wonder is whom are those lyrics for? Because he’s expressive on the stage, as if they’re real thoughts which crossed his mind at some point in his short life. 

“ _If you stick with me, I can take you higher_

_And higher_

_It feels like all of our friends are lost, nobody’s found_

_Found_

_Found_ ”

Hm. He’s not even wrong. Everyone seems lost, from Jackson who had never been in love in his 37 years of life, to Mark, who can’t find a way to escape that cage he has been living into for the last fifteen years. 

It’s as if Jaebeom is immune to everything, wiser than everyone, prettier, freer. Because, Mark realized, beauty lies within simplicity, be it about words, looks, sounds, colours and shapes. Be it about decisions. Be it about simply being. 

“ _I got so scared, I thought no one could save me_

 _You came along, scooped me up like a baby_ ”

This one hits a spot deep inside Mark’s heart. It sounds so familiar that even Jackson is grinning against his cigar while peaking at his best friend next to him. Still, Mark can’t process the song further, for him it is reduced to those last two lyrics he might get imprinted on his skin sometimes in the future. As he thinks about it, the world around him grows silent, and it stays like that, in a comfortable and numb haze, until everyone around him starts applauding. 

With a gulp, he follows Jackson, gets up on his feet and starts clapping for Jaebeom whose smile is so wide that he is blushing. Must be an overwhelming amount of applause — the good kind, that makes his heart burst out of his chest with happiness.

Mark doesn't even manage “congratulations”, his eyes not able to maintain a simple contact, but shifting everywhere, trying to take in the gorgeous smile, the neat hairstyle, the cute blush, the expensive clothes. It’s Jackson pulling Jaebeom closer to him in a half-hug, then patting his back while congratulating him; Mark joins awkwardly, hugs them both, and blabbers some thanks to Jackson and mumbles a compliment for Jaebeom. Then they are free to sit down at the table, with Jaebeom between them, and Mark just hopes he will resist not kissing Jaebeom.

He almost looks like a mature and elegant man until he turns to Mark and asks if he can steal the cherry from Mark’s drink… There’s an innocent smile on his face, so what can Mark even fucking say when he is getting too warm in his own seat? “It’s all yours.” 

“Thank you.” Of course Jaebeom gives him the prettiest pair of eyes as he picks up the cherry by its thin tail, and when the red fruit is encircled by Jaebeom’s lips, Mark thinks he might shove it inside his mouth with his own fucking tongue. 

He lights up a cigarette instead, to feel bitter on his lips, maybe it would help him forget about the sweetness of the cherry and of Jaebeom's mouth. Then Jaebeom spits the kernel in his own drink, eyes both Jackson and Mark, and slowly pushes his drink away. On his lips there’s a small guilty smile as if he hopes no one noticed his impoliteness. Even Jackson looks like he pays no mind to it since he is aware Jaebeom is barely twenty, and won’t suddenly act like he is thirty just because Jackson’s people roll like that. 

Though he sends a warning look to Mark, as if he is concerned about something — Jackson doesn't say a word about it, but it’s there, a secret he is aware of. He’s not trying to stop it, he just warns patiently and chooses to trust his old friend even when he makes bad decisions in life. 

  
  


.

  
  


The moment Jaebeom hits the mattress, he is bounced back just slightly, his eyes widening as Mark’s face leans closer to his. They’re kissing, Mark is kissing him, and he wonders how about Mark’s long trench coat, still on him, still over the velvet coat of his suit. 

Jaebeom is neither a good kisser nor one who actually pays attention to their lips. He seems to be lost in space while thinking about their clothes and about the slightly uncomfortable position. Then he melts suddenly when he gets a taste of Mark’s tongue, hands reach for Mark and he clings by his neck to keep him close.

When he opens his eyes, Mark is staring down at him, so admiring that it’s embarrassing. Suddenly, even Mark grows ashamed, and starts feeling guilty yet again, so he presses a kiss on Jaebeom’s forehead before pulling away from him. 

“Gosh, I thought this would be easier…” 

Well, it’s only awkward silence from Jaebeom who is still laying on the bed. And Mark doesn't really know what to add to it, he really thought he could push Jaebeom on the bed, undress him and make love to him, but eventually realized that his problems won’t magically go away if he does that. He admits he imagined this quite a few times, but now he simply can’t do it. He can’t sleep with a debutant singer he barely knows for one year or so. 

“I apologize, Jaebeom… I know I shouldn't have kissed you.”

“Mark, if you want to go to your wife, go to your wife. You really don't have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not my wife. It’s you being closer to my son’s age than mine, and it feels so much like a sin that I feel my skin burning when I dare touch you. It’s true that me and my wife decided to split, but I love Gerard very much and he is growing so fast and I’m afraid he’ll come of age and ask me about his mother and about all these stuff and I won’t know how to tell him that I am, in fact, not attracted to women! That’s such an embarrassing thing you could say to your own son!”

“Well, you don’t have to tell him. Just tell him you fell in love with life. With freedom! Tell him you wanted to travel, to see the world, the oceans and the skies! The land!”

Mark turns his head and finds himself lost in the shine of Jaebeom’s eyes as he talks about _being free and young and reckless_ , as if he forgot Mark is none of those things. He almost hates how much he loves it. 

“That’s why you clinged on me and begged me to help you run away from home?” 

It has always been a curiosity for Mark. Truth is, he let things happen with Jaebeom. He never really asked questions to get to know him, he foolishly fell in love with this beautiful shell of Jaebeom, which, for him, was some sort of muse. Inspiration. A pretty boy with shiny eyes who can’t see colours, running away from home and making it big, almost. It felt like a fucking story Mark was living. But he feels the end near and doesn't like it. 

“You described it once… home not actually feeling like _home_ ? You not having your own little spot or place at home? Putting your head on the pillow and feeling uncomfortable? That’s how I felt at home. I woke up, I helped around with the bar, and I sang later on, all for free. I was never really in charge of anything, I was just… _there_. Like a ghost. Because no one really noticed me. There was no one to listen to me. No one who cared whether I was dead or alive. Because I was small, useless, insignificant and had no future, anyway.” 

Jaebeom gets up and Mark notices the frown on his face. He watches Jaebeom take off the coat, then the velvet underneath. Then his shirt, too, his shoes, socks and then his pants. 

“But then you came to our shitty bar and looked at me each and every time, as if you came for me. So I guess I didn’t fucking care where you would take me, I just wanted you to get me out of that miserable place. I never thought _I_ would get to sing in front of such a big crowd or that _I_ would wear velvet. I never even dared dream this big because all I was back home was some sort of bird in a cage whom no one fucking cared about. So my dream was to escape the cage and taste the real life I never really got to experience.” 

“I’m sure you have some nice memories with your family, too.”

“Maybe quite some small ones, but I didn’t really fit there. Because I was always so curious about everything, I wanted to go to school, I wanted to study, to get to know others, but my parents limited me to my disability, to the bar, to the fact that I was no one special and to the fact that we didn’t have money. I know this may sound silly, but they never really did anything for me, and I kind of… got accustomed with the idea that I’m all alone and that I should do everything alone.” 

“Well, you have an album now. You have Jackson and you have me.” 

“I know. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never been to the beach. And I was wondering whether you’d like to come with me?”

Mark stops in his tracks for a second. Furrows his eyebrows. _It must be kinda cold at the beach right now,_ he thinks, because it’s autumn. Then he gulps, because he never really been to the beach and enjoyed it — he found it too noisy, had to take care of Gerard and to pretend to be in love with his wife; had to pretend he wasn’t staring at men’s underwear. But since it’s autumn, it must be empty… 

“Get dressed.”

  
  


.

  
  


It’s just a bit windier than Mark expected. The sky above them is so dark that it gets lost in the water. The sand is orangey, darkened only by the shade of the night. 

Mark has never been to this one beach — his wife usually chose Brighton, so they’ve been there a couple of times. But this time he hopped in the car and decided to visit another, to make new memories in a new place with a new person. To try to leave the old behind him. Call him insane, but he did drive about two hours just to bring Jaebeom to Sussex, to see a beach at about two in the morning. 

Though Jaebeom is all shiny eyes, he doesn't fail to notice Mark taking off his shoes, his socks and then cuffing his pants to his knee level. And when his face turns to Jaebeom, the latter understands that it’s his turn to do the same. 

It’s as if the wind blows Jaebeom in front of Mark, who stops in his tracks for a moment to take in everything: Jaebeom’s bare feet in the sand, the wind blowing on his hair, the way he reaches down and touches the sand with his own hands, caresses it like a curious child, and lets his imprint on it. At some point, he turns his head towards Mark without getting back on his feet — just him curled up, hands around his knees, black bangs in his face, waiting ever so patiently for Mark to join. But Mark can’t really move, wishing he had a camera to take a picture of this tired and disheveled Jaebeom so he could treasure it forever. 

He almost hates it when Jaebeom gets up and approaches the water, tests it and mumbles that it’s cold. It’s cute nevertheless, though Mark preferred that position in which Jaebeom looked innocently and beautifully lost. Slightly shivering from the cold, yet free. 

Jaebeom tries the water, just his feet, and Mark only watches from a safe distance because he likes the sand. He soaks in the silence he adores so much, thinking that it fits so well with the mild wind. Watches Jaebeom and his frozen feet which sink more and more into the water. Gets cold just from looking at him, but doesn't stop him, not even when the water is almost up to his knees.

“Do you think we could swim a little? Why don’t you join me in the water?”

“Because it’s too cold?”

“Well, it is kinda cold…”

It’s freezing cold, Mark believes as his own feet get in the dark water. He shakes his head at a Jaebeom who looks like he wants to grab him, and reaches down, wraps a hand around Jaebeom so he would be the one who grabs Jaebeom first, pulling him out of water. His freezing legs are hanging in the air as his hands hold tightly onto Mark’s neck. On his face there’s some sort of pout, one that begs Mark to make a promise. 

“I promise we will come back in the summer and swim together. For now, you have seen the beach, as you wanted. We can stay some more if you want, take a walk, but let’s get out of the water, alright?” 

It’s new to Mark too — the quiet walk under the moon, the wet sand under their feet, the hand he is holding. He’s not even in love, or so he thinks, because love should be something much more passionate than what he experiences with Jaebeom. This is slow, calm, almost too innocent for him. 

He stops, making Jaebeom turn to face him, his hand still in Mark’s. None of them says anything, only Jaebeom approaches to slowly wrap his hands around Mark’s waist as he sticks to Mark’s body. It’s still not love, not like Mark remembers it; instead, it’s his heart feeling so light in his chest, his mind not bothered by any thought, his whole body feeling fresh, reinvigorated. He is really fucking tired as well, though, as the wind blows, it kind of washes away some of the tiredness in his body, leaving his cheeks and hands cold. 

“Did you like it?” He asks, as if asking whether they should stop here and rest their bones for a while. 

“Very much!” 

Mark is glad, so he presses a kiss on Jaebeom’s cheek, at which Jaebeom responds by pecking him on the lips. It’s only a matter of time until Mark’s hands cup Jaebeom's face to pull him back and kiss him hard a few times in the cold of the night, while the world around them is asleep, while Mark finally feels at ease with this kind of troubled, innocent, silent kind of love. 

  
  


.

  
  


They settle at a motel of some sort in Sussex, because Mark is too tired to drive home. It’s pretty cheap anyway, and though it is not Mark’s style, he is so happy when his naked figure finally hits the neat mattress. He yawns and feels Jaebeom next to him, lazily peppering kisses on his cheek and chin. It’s also Jaebeom who shoves Mark’s hand in his own boxers, and Mark doesn't mind rubbing him through the fabric until his last drop of energy shakes him awake and drives him into pulling Jaebeom's boxers down and then discharging them. 

A few lazy kisses, a few low sounds from Jaebeom, Mark’s hand between his thighs, rubbing circles, pressing, pushing. Making Jaebeom cling and moan and caress him. They are both half-asleep and barely keeping their eyes open, so Mark decides to help Jaebeom up on top of him, so his hands can tug down his own underwear, at least until he manages to free his erection. Though it’s pressing against Jaebeom’s bare cheeks, Mark’s head is still light and cloudy, filled with sleepiness. 

Jaebeom is a bit more awake, with his hand behind him, trying to guide Mark, as if he finally hurries with something. Mark truly just battles between staying awake and falling asleep for a while, focusing on the sensation rather than on the image of Jaebeom on top of him.

At some point, he shakes himself awake: Jaebeom is still grinding up and down on his cock, mouth open but no sound coming out, as if they are both in a mute movie. He just can’t help but grab Jaebeom, let that whine fog his brain, and push Jaebeom down until his head is sinking in the plushy pillow and Mark is on top. They both loosen up after Mark’s hand is under Jaebeom's head, when Jaebeom’s palms are pressed on Mark’s hips, and when they are both breathing heavily, in unison with Mark’s thrusts.

In the end, he turns Jaebeom around and slowly fucks him from behind, pushing him into the mattress with each thrust. It’s what gets him off due to the moans and to the position, but he doesn't forget to pull out and spread his come on Jaebeom’s thighs. However, he pushes back in when Jaebeom asks him to, helps him jerk off, and ends up confused when his hands are on Jaebeom's stomach, his cock still inside of Jaebeom, and Jaebeom just breathing fast while his legs are jolting and spasming from time to time. 

“You alright?” Mark finally manages, and feels more at ease as Jaebeom lets his cock slip out, and lazily turns around until he is laying on his back. 

“Mhm…” 

Oh shit. The sun is still not up, yet the night is not that dark anymore, as if the sky is slowly drowning in lighter, warmer shades and colours. And not only is Mark wrecked, but his troubled mind is awake again, and he has no idea how he should sleep for the sake of being able to return home tomorrow. 

Jaebeom notices him, he always sees it. And while it bothers him so much, he never really complains out loud about it. He learned that, in Mark’s eyes, he is nothing more than a perverted desire, and that Mark will always beat himself up after he has a taste. Just like he is some sort of poison Mark willingly drinks. Jaebeom hates it too, being poisonous. It’s a paradox, really. And there is no mild way out. And Mark… Mark doesn't have the balls and cockiness to assume his wrongs and sins and simply go on with them. 

“Mark?” 

“Hm?” 

“ _It’s alright._ Every story needs a villain…” 

Mark can’t believe his lips quirk up in a grin when hearing that. It’s not even as comforting as it should be, it’s just a simple fact. 

“I don’t fucking care whether you’re bad or not. _Be bad. Be so fucking bad._ Some of us are just… _bad._ And it doesn't fucking matter as long as it makes you happy, because… because you’re going to die anyway. So might as well just live your only life instead of beating yourself up for being bad. What are you so afraid of? Society? God?”

“I don’t know, I used to believe in God…” 

“God would want you to be happy. He gave you your life so you could live it happily.” 

Well, Mark doesn’t know what to say about that. But since his chest starts feeling lighter again, he actually takes his time to process all of Jaebeom's uncensored, raw words. In the end, Jaebeom might not be exactly right, but he is not totally wrong either. 

“Remember when you said your novel is shit and I told you you’re criticising yourself too harshly? If I put myself in your shoes, the conclusion is that nothing will ever be good enough, and maybe that’s right, but we are people and we are all flawed. Just like that, we find comfort in flawed things, flawed music and flawed literature, if you wish. Flawed sex with someone who is not perfect for us. But in the end… you’ll be happier if you admit your flaws and live with them instead of aiming for perfection and destroying yourself completely until you reach it. Next time when you want to climb in bed with me and fuck me, please leave your shame at the door.” 

The last thing is going to stay in Mark’s mind for a long time, he assumes. Since sleep is no longer haunting him, he drags himself closer to Jaebeom, who is warm under the blanket. In silence, he wonders where such a rebellious life philosophy came from, but then he remembers Jaebeom used to be a greaser when he first saw him, so it makes sense. 

As Mark lays his head down on the pillow, he finally understands that those typologies don’t reduce themselves to leather jackets versus suits or greased hair versus neat hair or rock’n’roll versus jazz. _Beer versus whiskey. Graffiti and posters versus beat poetry. Thuggy greasers versus fake intellectuals who call themselves the beatniks._ It’s all bullshit. 

Instead, it’s a matter of souls. It’s troubled yet artistic ones, sinking in their sweet torture and bleeding constantly _versus_ the free spirits, who don’t have beliefs and who decide to just enjoy their time on earth. 

So it’s not really a versus. There’s no battle and there should be no battle when the two categories mix together so well. 

  
  


.

  
  


Mark wakes up shamelessly in the middle of the day, due to his ears hearing a low “ _fuck_ ” after some sort of flop on the ground. He assumes it’s Jaebeom, so he tries his best to wake himself up just to pull Jaebeom back in the bed. He is so wrinkled and his back hurts; the sun is bothering and blinding him. Whatever was supposed to be morning turns out too lazy for what he likes. 

At least Jaebeom comes back with instant coffee for both of them, and they decide to reduce their late breakfast — or maybe their brunch at this point — to some pastries they pick up after checking out of the motel. 

Only in the car does Mark wonder if all of this is actually real because the last night has been a long one: from the glamorous show to the cramped cab, the bed, his car, the beach. The motel. And now his car again. He feels like he aged ten years in one night and hopes it doesn't show on his face. 

A sigh when Jaebeom returns with the pastries and climbs in the passenger’s seat. Steals Mark’s hat, gets gem on his pants, is a mess, but one of the sweetest Mark has ever seen. 

“By the way.” Jaebeom’s eyes are on him already, though he is still nibbling at something sweet. “I thought about what you said last night. Where the hell did that come from?”

“Oh, well,” his mouth is full, but he talks anyway “you don’t know, but kids those days are kinda crazy.”

“What do you even mean by that?”

“There might be a new kind of movement soon. You don’t know because you’re a refined man, Mark, but some kids with motorcycles were talking about it. Something about rebellion and talking how the fuck you want to and stuff like this.” 

“Bullshit. Anyway, this is not what I wanted us to talk about. I wanted to ask you whether you’d like to be my lover.” 

“I guess?”

“You guess?”

Jaebeom sighs loudly and shakes his shoulders. “I don’t want it to be overwhelming for you. I’ll stick with you anyway because I don’t have anyone else. Maybe Mister Jackson but I can’t talk with him like I talk with you.”

“Jaebeom, that’s still not an answer.”

“Fine then.”

“Fine what?”

Instead of an answer, Jaebeom leans in and presses his sticky and sweet lips on Mark’s neck. He presses a kiss there then pulls away, and when he wants to take another bite from his pastry, Mark grabs his hand, moving it up until he can bite on that piece of pain au chocolat. 

“Stay here.” He mumbles with his mouth full before getting out of the car. 

He returns with a new camera and with an empty photo album, just to make sure that when they will return, they will already have a few memories captured in the album. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


“This is… _bad._ ” 

Jaebeom's face fades, his hands grab at his sweater and he just gulps, trying his best to not get upset about it. Sometimes he understands Mark — criticism is so hard to take, it’s frightening sometimes how it can bring one down. 

“It’s too simple, almost _childish,_ and-” 

The hand over the papers sprawled in front of him makes Jackson sigh and grab at them to pull them back, so he can finish reading them. However, today Jaebeom is such a nuisance that tugs at the papers, Jackson doesn't let go either and some end up in pieces after Jaebeom yells he will rewrite them. 

“Can you stop being like that? Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? You had a deadline-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking! You had a deadline to write the lyrics, and once you gave them to me, you cannot snatch them back like that! What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry…”

“It feels like you didn't even try with those lyrics. I barely like two of them, but the other six are half-assed!”

Again, the sad face and no word to battle against Jackson’s. Just Jaebeom silently taking his seat as if he is grounded, pulling a white paper in front of him and scribbling down the few words he has been needing to let out for a while — put them in his notebook dozens of times just to cut them afterwards, draw over them, x them. Anything so they won’t be visible anymore.

He does yet again, with a frown on his face, then unawarely lifts his head, not looking at Jackson or at something else; simply staring into space, as if he is blinded by his own thoughts and concerns. “My eyesight got worse lately. It’s not blurrier than before or cloudier, it’s rather…” His left hand opens and sets his fingers free in an attempt to describe it. He repeats the motion once more, thinking how to make Jackson understand. “Some sort of white light, very flashy, which leaves me blind for a few moments. But I’ve experienced it constantly, without standing in the light. I’m afraid I will open my eyes one day and I’ll be completely blind.”

Jackson seems to buy it. To pity him, even. “Maybe it’s due to the snow? And due to the lights which are everywhere? Why don’t you tell Mark to take you to a check-out, hm?”

“I will… go by myself…” 

Jackson rolls his eyes, but doesn't ask whether he fought with Mark. Then he sees Jaebeom staring out the window, cheeks buried in his hands, and turns his head just to remember how the snowflakes are flying outside. It’s a calming view. 

“Do you like mulled wine, Jaebeom?”

Silence, but at least he has Jaebeom's attention. 

“We can go get some together from the Christmas market. You probably need a break, and I’ve been pretty harsh on you. So… I’ll buy some mulled wine for you as an apology.” 

Jaebeom shifts his shoulders up, not denying and not accepting either. It’s an unsaid “yes”, because he is not really in the position to refuse Jackson, the man who has helped him out so much until now without asking for anything in exchange. 

What can he say? He likes winter, used to like winter because now he is not so sure he enjoys it that much. It’s better to stay inside, where it’s warm, and look out the window at the snowflakes, at the lights, at all the white landscapes as having a warm cup pressed in his hands. And the Christmas market? It’s fun, Jaebeom used to come here with Youngjae every year and stare at everything because none of them had money to buy anything, not even gingerbread or candy. In the end, all the products there, from food to decorations, had always been overpriced because that’s the Christmas spirit, right? Sometimes Jaebeom thinks about his roots, about the family he left behind, about the kid he used to be and starts regretting things like running away from home with nothing.

He stops dreaming with his eyes open as Jackson hands him a cup of hot mulled wine, and rests behind him, waiting for the reeky lentils of his glasses to go back to normal. Jaebeom is not extremely fond of mulled wine, but has a sip for the sake of it. 

“I don’t actually think your lyrics are bad, Jaebeom. Sure, there is room for improvement, but I don’t think they are _bad._ I guess I just wanted to bring you here… I needed a break, too.” 

“Mhm…” 

There’s a familiar jacket Jaebeom spots in the crowd, next to a black one, on a man almost as tall as him. He tries not to think of Mark, but then he sees Mark’s profile as he steps away from the guy with the black jacket and the fake gunshot. Then he realizes it’s actually Mark, along with _his son_ , both of them trying their luck at one of those shooting games. 

“How about we take a walk or something?”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No, but…”

“Oh, Mister Wang! What a coincidence!” A third voice intrudes, and Jackson seems to be holding back a grin as he approaches the guy and hugs him. It’s a bit strange, but under the thick and black framed glasses, Jaebeom feels like he is familiar with the thick eyebrows, with the dark brown hair, and with that laugh. 

“You got off work?”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that! But don’t be rude, introduce me to your…” It looks like the new guy is staring at Jaebeom just like Jaebeom would have if this guy wouldn't have been so intimidating. It’s as if he finds Jaebeom familiar, too. “Jaebeom?”

So he knows Jaebeom, and Jaebeom knows who he is as well, but he doesn't really recall the name. They were kids, they would play in the cottage owned by the guy’s parents during summers. This guy is his cousin if he recalls well. The rich one whom Jaebeom’s family cut contact with due to family quarrels and such. He has no idea, he was a teenager and lastly saw his cousin about five or six years ago. 

“Hi! It’s been a while…”

“It’s been a while indeed!” The man shakes hands with Jaebeom, gives him a reassuring smile and then slowly lets go. “I don’t know if you still remember me because we didn’t really keep in touch. It’s Jinyoung. Jinyoung Park?”

“ _Jinyoung_!” He repeats, as the name does strike a chord. “It’s good to see you again! You’re… all grown up now!” 

“You’re grown up too! Jackson, I didn’t know you were friends with my cousin. Such a small world we live in, isn’t it?” 

Jackson shakes his shoulders, still a bit bemused, yet as sympathetic as always. Probably he still can’t process the fact that Jinyoung and Jaebeom are related and know each other. 

“Uncle Jackson!” 

When Jaebeom hears that, his heart stops. Because he knows what is going on and… for some reason, feels ashamed of being here, at this time, in this place. Because he doesn't really belong. He realizes as Mark’s son shakes hands with Jackson, like a man. Everything starts feeling wrong, because Mark’s son is more of a man than Jaebeom probably is; and because Jaebeom feels the sudden urge to yell and run away as he realizes that he is nothing more than a stupid teenager in comparison to Jackson and Mark. 

“Where’s your dad, Gerard?” 

“He said he wanted to try his luck at shooting, too. But I bet he won’t get ten out of ten! Uncle, you should try, too!”

“I would, but my bad sight says maybe not. Anyway, you should tell your dad to let you visit me more often! I miss having someone to notice the best vinyls in my collection.”

“I miss it, too! But I’ve been busy with school and mom doesn't really want me to spend my time with… you know, I guess.”

Mark’s hand ruffles his son’s hair, and the way the two resemble each other steals the spotlight for just a second, as it is obvious they are father and son. Then Mark sallutes Jackson, and says hi to both Jinyoung and Jaebeom by keeping his distance, one hand on Gerard and the other in his pocket. 

“Since we’ve all met here, by accident or not, I think that this calls for a celebration! In the end, Christmas is just around the corner and I don't know when I’ll get the chance to see all of you in this formula!” Jackson has his usual proud smile on his face, as if knowing he did something with that invitation. “How about it?”

“You guys have fun!” 

“You were invited too, Mark. Plus… I was thinking about a small gathering at my place? You can bring Gerard as well if you think that’s alright! In the end… he is a man now!”

Mark stares at his son as if begging him not to display his puppy eyes or to say anything and try to convince him — though Mark already considers it, wants to, because Jackson is right: occasions like this one are rare. 

  
  


.

  
  


It’s no surprise that Jackson’s house is grand and luxurious. Nor that he has an impressive collection of vinyls and a whole showcase displaying expensive bottles of refined wine. Nothing _really_ happens, just useless conversations over wine. It’s both amazing and funny how Jackson and Jinyoung seem to be those who talk the most, while Mark and Jaebeom are rather on the quiet, listening side. 

At one point, Jaebeom is left alone only with Jinyoung, as the others are in another room, admiring Jackson’s vinyl collection. If you struggle, you can hear Gerard and Jackson having a conversation about The Doors, and it’s extremely easy to picture a speechless Mark next to them, probably wondering when did his son grow so much. 

“You’re not quite the talker, are you?” Jaebeom snaps out of it when he hears Jinyoung's voice and when he sees Jinyoung moving slightly closer to him. He can’t do much, he shakes his shoulders and tries to move his attention to the man next to him. 

“I’m not usually like this… I just had a long day.” 

“I see. By the way, I don't think I asked you how your family is doing.”

Thanks, Jaebeom absolutely hates it. “I don’t know.” He mumbles, trying to prevent himself from actually thinking about it. “I haven't kept in touch.” 

Jinyoung seems to be interested in the matter, so he finishes the wine in his glass and moves again, even closer to Jaebeom this time. “You didn’t? Why?” 

“I don't know, I left home randomly without thinking too much about it. That home didn’t feel like home to me, never did, so I took the opportunity, left, and never really cared to visit and such.” 

“So you’re not really close with your parents?”

“Whenever I sit down and think about it, I start hating myself for not actually loving them. All I remember is my mother saying I’m too quiet and too reserved for a boy… which I was wrong to take as a compliment. I don’t know, I guess they didn’t like the fact that I left, but they also didn’t care enough as to actually search for me, make sure I’m alive, or ask me why I decided to just disappear.” 

Jinyoung sighs, almost sympathetic towards Jaebeom and his lame sad story. “You can’t really choose your family, Jaebeom. It’s not a tragedy that you don’t feel connected to them, really.”

There’s a soft melody making the both of them lift their heads, wondering who chose the vinyl this time; it fills the atmosphere with warmth and coziness, making Jaebeom sink better in the couch after Jinyoung gets up to get his hands on Jackson. It’s a bit strange how Jinyoung's hands find their way so quickly and comfortably on Jackson's waist, as if this is not the first time the two of them are this close. 

“Oh, do you want to dance?” Jackson asks in a whisper, and Jaebeom regrets being there and ruining their little moment, which feels kind of intimate. 

“I want more than to dance!”

Jaebeom’s eyes grow incredibly wide as he notices Jinyoung’s hand grabbing Jackson’s ass through his pants and squishing pretty hard for a few seconds. Jaebeom hears Jackson sighing, and by the time he turns around to face Jaebeom with an embarrassed face, Jaebeom is lighting up a cigarette and pretending he didn’t see that. 

“Oh my god, you didn’t tell your friends…” Whispers Jinyoung, hands wrapping around Jackson’s waist again, hugging him from behind. “ _Motherfucker._ ”

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Jaebeom. I guess now it’s pretty obvious why I’m not married, and I would very much appreciate it if you’d keep it a secret.”

“You’re such a circus monkey sometimes with your little kind man façade that it’s making me want to-” Instead of finishing that, Jinyoung slaps Jackson over his ass and goes back to sit next to Jaebeom. “Sorry, Beommie, but your very rich and sophisticated prick of a music producer is not straight. I’m not going to kiss him in front of you, but you should know.” 

“Mark said someone like Jackson couldn't be single, so…” There’s a small flustered smile on Jaebeom's lips, as well. “I’m glad you guys take care of each other.”

The thing is… Jaebeom looks at them, hears their little teases and their inside jokes, and finds himself endeared. Only later does he make the math and understands that there’s a considerable age gap between Jinyoung and Jackson — because Jackson is a bit older than Mark; and Jinyoung is about four years older than Jaebeom, or something like that. So they’re… they’re literally in the same situation as Jaebeom and Mark. 

If anything, Jaebeom hopes to be this close to Mark in a few years’ time. Hopes to be able to put his hands on Mark or smile at Mark with no shame, just as Jinyoung does with Jackson. He also has another wish which he thinks could make it a reality if he tries hard enough… and if he gets the support he needs. 

He keeps it in mind until later, when he can finally take a seat next to Mark and finally catch his eye. Without saying anything, he shows his pinky to Mark, who lifts an eyebrow as if asking what he means by that. And maybe Jaebeom shouldn't say it out loud, but Jackson and Jinyoung both feel like the family he never had, so he shouldn't be ashamed of them, right? 

“I… I know what makes you happy.” 

Again, Mark doesn’t look like he understands. 

“I promise I will work hard on this new album. I’ll save some money and… I’ll ask you to publish your novel.” 

Mark’s face is unreadable, Jaebeom's pinky is still waiting, suspended in the air, and Jinyoung and Jackson are both staring, startled. But instead of grabbing the pinky with his, Mark shakes his head and grabs Jaebeom’s whole hand, quickly moving it closer to his face and pressing a loving kiss on it. 

“Aren't you a bit too generous with your manager?”

“You were very generous with me when I had nothing, so I’m only trying to thank you. I thought it would make you happy because I know how much you love writing. And I know you poured your heart into the novel you are writing… Yes, I know you’d rather keep things to yourself, be-”

Jaebeom almost stops breathing when both of Mark’s hands cup his face, and he can see Mark’s bright and toothy smile up close, so close that it feels like it’s going to clash with Jaebeom’s own embarrassed smile. 

“ _Because that’s just how you are, really private and never giving yourself the credit, love or appreciation you deserve._ So I want to… give you that.”

Mark delivers his kiss right between Jaebeom’s eyebrows, and after he pulls away, everyone sees him getting up and going to get something from his jacket. Jinyoung slaps Jackson’s chest, and when Jackson complains about it, his hand grabs Jackson’s shirt, those thick eyebrows of his furrowing beneath the black frames of his glasses. It’s as if he expects Mark to return with a ring, and lets go slightly disappointed when Mark doesn’t turn back with a ring. 

“I meant to give you this earlier, but I didn't want to be cheesy in front of the others.” Mark mumbles, and puts into Jaebeom's arms a small… stuffed toy? It’s some sort of bear which Jaebeom sees in all kinds of greys. “I won it at the shooting game, and I thought I would give it to you since Gerard won a similar one, but a bit bigger. I’m aware that you cannot see just how colourful it is, but I want you to look at it whenever you’re down, and remember that just because you can’t really see the colours of a rainbow, that doesn't mean that you don’t deserve to hold in your arms a little rainbow. Trust me, you’re capable of great things, even though you may feel so small sometimes.” 

A thumb touches some of the different shades of grey Jaebeom sees on the toy, as if speechless. 

“I know it’s not much, but I hope it will make you think of me whenever you feel tired and uninspired. It doesn't compare to your gift towards me, but maybe I can also help you with some of the lyrics you don’t feel confident with. Jackson doesn't have to know.”

“Excuse you, Jackson heard that!” Says Jackson, who rolls his eyes and wraps his hands at his chest level. “But help him, you got some talent, and I’ll be patiently waiting to buy your novel.”

“I’ll try my best not to disappoint.” 

Jaebeom finds himself pressed against Mark, with his head on Mark’s shoulder, battling before staying awake and falling asleep, only about half an hour later. The rainbow teddy bear is still in his lap, soft against the fingers which slowly caress it. He cannot help but think about the noise from back at his parents’ house, about the silence back home and about the odd yet pleasant sounds he hears right now: glasses slightly hitting against each other after more wine is refilling them, [ The Doors playing at a low volume in another room ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOJSmXSFCWk), Jackson chatting in a low tone and Mark’s heart beating so close to his ear. Such a mix it is that Jaebeom feels like putting a name to it, but doesn't quite find the word for it. 

Strange? Or maybe odd? 

He needs something less sinister, so thinks about the word _mad_ , because, in the end, they’re living in such a mad world. Then starts wondering whether an album with the name _Mad Sounds_ in the middle of its cover could be the one encouraging Mark to publish his novel. If he remembers well, the raw title of Mark’s writing is something like “Running away from noise”, and Jaebeom wonders if the journey could lead to his [ Mad Sounds ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up5DEICL_Q0). Because it feels like the two complete each other, just like Jaebeom’s philosophy about life completes Mark’s. 

It’ll probably be a fucking hit, Jaebeom's mind tells him, making him grin to himself as his eyes fall shut, a bit too heavy with sleep. Until he manages to fall into a slumber, he thinks about his and Mark's arts being so different yet representing two parts of the same piece. And he is glad it's like that, since they both love art to the extent that it's the greatest form of love they experienced. Until they met each other, at least.

"Uncle, do you have any garage rock?" Gerard's voice can be heard just as his head sticks into the living room, curious and adorable.

"I'm not sure. I have some The Rolling Stones records for sure."

"No, I mean... cooler stuff."

"They call it _punk_." Jaebeom suddenly says as raising his head from Mark and looking at Jackson with sleepy eyes. "It's not really definite. It's pretty new. And it's mostly inspired from garage rock. There really aren't records yet, I believe, because they're mostly playing live. But I can go with him and maybe we can search together for something cool, if that's fine." 

Jackson raises an eyebrow to Mark, because Mark is Gerard's father. And of course he gestures Jaebeom to go and do whatever. He just doesn't expect to walk later in the room with all the vinyls and see both Jaebeom and Gerard sitting on the floor, talking about obscure bands Mark never heard of. Gerard is as tall as Jaebeom at only sixteen, and the way their frames are almost the same size is devastating to Mark. The fact that his son is growing up at such a fast peace is a bit scary. Yet, at least, he is confident that whenever he won't understand Gerard anymore, Jaebeom will. And maybe Jaebeom won't ever be regarded as a father figure or a replacement for it, but he might be regarded as a friend some time in the future, which truly warms Mark's heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> p.s: hope you guys noticed there are some links to songs here and there :D
> 
> as always, any kind of feedback is welcomed and very appreciated and thank you for reading!


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